


Storm of Roses

by Cornerofmadness



Series: Stormy Life Series [2]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: Connor, recently granted his memories back, tries to keep up his nice college life by participating in the end of the year art show but is plagued by his past and present loves and things far more dire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I own nothing and make no money from this. Mr. Whedon owns all. Any characters you don’t recognize, like Tshaya and Killian, those are mine but I earn nothing from them either. Also the poetry used doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to Ms. Bachmann.
> 
> **Warning** : bondage and domination
> 
> **Timeline** : Set within Angel S5
> 
>  
> 
> **Author’s Note No.1** : This is the sequel to A Most Stormy Life. It helps to read that but not necessary. All you need to know is this is an AR of S5. There was no _Origins._ Connor regains his memory thanks to the magic of his Romani girlfriend who’s not all she seems. There is no Black Thorn. Angel is clueless to Connor’s newly awakened state. Illyria is present. This is the second story in the Chiaroscuro series and was originally published in 2004.
> 
> **Author’s Note No.2** : Roses are often used in poetry to symbolize a loss of virginity which is a main theme of this work, hence the title. Also anything in the Romani language was researched the best I could at the time. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> **Author’s Note No.3** : Thanks to Chris G-D for all the info on what happens at a student art show and for giving Connor’s art some realism and for the edits. And thanks to Evil_little_dog for the beta. Also the gentleman in the tu-tu came from a real life person who often showed up at art shows.
> 
> **Author’s Note No.4** : This was written for Ragna’s challenge #2 My interpretation of the lyrics are in the flashbacks. The challenge Requirements are: Must interpret the lyrics Sic Transit Gloria by the band Brand New  
> Must be in first person with flashbacks (there can be dialogue in the flashbacks). - You must use the lines “It used to be the reason I breathed but now it’s choking me up” and “Die young and save yourself”. - Whoever you choose as the narrator must say the phrase “And I bet on my grave they’ll put “Sic Transit Gloria...Glory Fades” just to piss me off.”

_Wherever we turn in the storm of roses, the night is lit up by thorns, and the thunder of leaves, once so quiet within the bushes, rumbling at our heels.  
Ingeborg Bachmann - In a Storm of Roses_

Chapter One

Nerves chewed like rats on the inside of my stomach. I was being ridiculous. I’ve faced down demons without breaking a sweat. Standing up to family members and a few professors judging our art at the school’s end of year student gallery opening shouldn’t be a problem. Only it was. Connor the Destroyer was gone, magically shunted aside until I had reclaimed him two weeks prior, thanks to Tshaya’s magic.

But Connor the Almost Happy Teen I had been turned into was still with me, inside my head like Dr. Jekyll. It was disconcerting, that second set of memories. I almost hated that silly, carefree boy and yet was grateful to have him. He brought some strange serenity to the seething emotions inside me. When my lover’s magic had broken the spell Angel had cast over me, I wanted to run after him, to make Angel pay for this violation of self. 

Tshaya and her relatives encouraged me to kill him. Well, her relatives at any rate. Tshaya had reservations. She was a descendant of the few lucky Kalderash who had escaped Mom and her companions after they exacted their revenge for the Romani tribe cursing Dad. Somehow, my anger at my father dissipated almost as fast as it had redeveloped in my heart. I didn’t go to kill Angel, nor did I go to thank him.

I think I knew why I had been unmade and reconstructed. I had only vague recollections of those days after my daughter’s birth. I wasn’t even sure if she had been alive days, weeks or maybe just hours. What I did know was I had wanted to die. That suicidal urge haunted me now, a sick echo deep inside me. Angel had done the only thing he thought would save me, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Did I die in the process? I think maybe I did. I am the phoenix, and that was my first painting after my memories returned; another self-portrait, me lying in a pool of blood with a brilliant new me awash in color leaving that body, joining Tshaya in one of my primordial forest backgrounds, plump with hungry, waiting eyes just beyond the clearings. In this, Tshaya was surrounded by magical symbols in that dangerous forest, which was a recurring theme with me. She was defiant, bold and beautiful warrior woman, alluring, holding a sword in one hand while magic curled from her open hand. A whip rode her hip, a pomegranate in its coiled center.

I spent five days locked away in my studio, read spare bedroom of my apartment where I wouldn’t be bothered by my fellow art students. Some were a help; half were either jealous, or talent-less or both. It was all Tshaya could do to make me take breaks, to nibble food I didn’t want or to lie down for futile attempts to sleep. I screamed at her for every interruption of my fugue. I didn’t want distracted and to hell with my body’s needs. The end result was a half dozen new paintings that looked like Dali after taking L.S.D and Ecstasy, and careening into a massively bad trip. Tshaya thought they were brilliant expressions of my inner mind, which really ought to scare me. She’s a psych and journalism double major. Journalism is her true love, and she would be covering the show for the school. She blended psych into the mix to get a better handle on human nature, good luck. 

The hard part about this show was picking which six pieces I wanted to go into the show, which was a generous amount but still seemed inadequate. All three self-portraits went in. The first one was old, from before I knew myself, _The Hollow Man_. This one I had no head because Fred was leaning over me, dissecting my chest, which held nothing inside but swirls of red and black. Gunn stood at her side and Angel watched from the rain outside. This one had won awards before from when I entered it in shows last semester. I probably should have picked another picture but this was one of my favorites, even if I knew it wouldn’t count toward this contest.

_The Phoenix_ self-portrait hung next to it, along with another new self-portrait, a blistering unleashed piece of rage called _Childhood Denied_. Quor-Toth played background in heavy red acrylics with broken bits of toys I had never played with jammed onto the canvas. In either corner, two sets of eyes watched me from swirls of hellish clouds, eyes, that if you knew them, were obviously Angel’s and Holtz’s. Even Tshaya was creeped out by the eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was a damn good piece of art or a pretentious waste of canvas. It’s so hard to tell sometimes. Of course, the big blue ribbon with first place on it said it wasn’t crap, but I still had my doubts.

The other three I entered were a triptych of femininity. The first was of Jasmine, blue and calm, half hidden remembrances of the peaceful lies she tried to bring. Looking at this picture there was no hints of the evils my daughter had done. I knew what she would have done if I hadn’t stopped her. Eventually she would have ruined the world but that wasn’t in this portrait. I hadn’t known myself when I painted this but obviously my love for my child had been inside me, spilling onto the canvas. Still, it was the one I liked the least out of what I was exhibiting, but it would be the one least likely to disturbed the parents. Tshaya wasn’t sure this packed the emotional punch of some of my others. She was probably right but I liked it just the same. I was hoping not to hear too many negative remarks about it. Artists need a thick skin but I was still growing it. I had tender spots still, chinks in my armor.

The next was of my mother. I don’t know what possessed me to do this, since that terrible delusion of seeing her couldn’t be real. I must have been mad at that time when she came to stop me and Cordy...surely Mom coming to visit me, to _stop_ me, was all a hallucination or else I was a murderer, and I’m not sure I could live with that. Maybe that’s why Angel did this to me, to protect me from myself. Regardless of whether it was real and whatever Angel’s motives were, this image of my mother dug its fangs into me, not letting me go. She didn’t look as she had in my memory. I made her older, from Holtz’s time, her blonde curls arranged neatly, her gown a verdant green, luxurious, becoming. She was beautiful on her throne of bones surrounded by red rose petals. If one stepped back and looked at her from afar, she seemed to be surrounded by a sea of blood. From either corner, amidst a crazed mixed on knot work and spirals that made the boundaries, were my eyes and Angel’s. She was so beautiful, and I loved her for all her wicked grin in my painting.

The most disturbing of the feminine paintings was the one of Cordelia. I had started it before the memories had flooded back. At that point she had just been a ghost on the canvas. It was me, swathed in a purple cocoon, naked, curled into a fetal position, that had been rendered in heartbreaking detail, previous to the spell breaking. Even then I had realized on some level my first time with a woman had left me exposed, devastated, feeling almost raped. I had included a sprinkle of white rose petals over my lithe body, the symbol of lost innocence. When everything broke free, Cordelia sprung to life like a vengeful Aphrodite. At first glance she spoke of beauty and lust, but upon deeper inspection one could see the arrogance, the hint of wickedness. Again, Angel was off in a corner, looking in as fire rained down. I knew now that must have been how he knew I was Cordy’s lover. The mere thought of him catching us made me feel like getting sick.

Just looking at this picture tore my soul to tatters. I wanted to howl at it, beg it for answers. I think maybe I had done just that when I was creating it in a vicious burst of energy that wouldn’t let me go until I was wrung out and useless. Was Cordy still in a coma? Had she died? Dare I find her? What would Tshaya think if I did?

I looked closer at the me in that picture. I was so small and scared, caught in the paints. Even though this had been started when I was still blissfully unaware of my former life - except for the nightmares that spilled out onto my canvases and forced me to try the spell to discover myself - I obviously still felt the anguish Cordelia had caused me, the betrayal, the utter confusion of love rendered into enslavement. I fought back the tears but couldn’t keep my memory from unspooling.

X X X

 

I shake, not knowing what is coming. I’m barely listening to Cordelia’s soft voice. The pain in my side makes my every breath hitch. How did this happen? I’ve fought so hard, so long, for so many years and nothing had ever broken me. Now, feeling the grating of bone, terror threatens to undo me. I had never felt this kind of panic, not even as a child fighting the worse Quor-Toth had to throw at me.

Cordy is telling me I’m not to blame, that it’s not my fault that it’s raining fire. I don’t believe her. It has to be. It can’t be an accident the monster came through where I was born. It’s tethered to me, to the evil that has to be inside me because of my birth. Then her lips are on mine, soft and warm. She tastes salty and slightly sour, not a surprise after what we’ve been through. We’ve kissed before and every time she tells me it’s wrong.

I wait for it, to hear again how I’m never quite right, how this is wrong. She doesn’t speak. It’s like she’s barely breathing. Like a voice from somewhere else, I hear myself asking, why she did it. I’m confused. Why does she keep pressing her lips to mine, and then act like it’s a sin? Why do I want her to do it? I don’t understand my own feelings. When I think about Cordy, my mind locks. There is no thought, just raw emotion. I want. I covet. I think this must be lust but I don’t know. I have no frame of reference. I know I want to touch her, have touched her when she was sleeping. I know it’s wrong but the things churning inside me make me do it. Is this the sinful desires Father warned me about? He never gave me details, just dire warnings.

Fear swells in me, devouring the goodness of the kiss. Her hands are on my face. Her words are full of pity and sorrow. We are going to die soon. We both know it. Her words jumble in my head, making no sense except for this one fact: I’m different. I’ve never been normal. There is too much I have never known and now, never will. Tears scald down my cheeks. I cannot stop them nor want to. I am unashamed. She promises me something real.

And I am more afraid than before as she takes me in her arms. I want this but I don’t understand it. My heart pounds as she takes my hand, moving it across her belly. I understand the command to explore but I’m shaking too hard. She has to be able to hear the drum of my heart. The Beast could hear it. I’m becoming a lure for the evil. I try to break away but she doesn’t let me go.

There is tenderness in her gaze but no understanding of my fright. Her lips meet mine again as she starts to pull my shirt over my head. Never before have I been uncomfortable with being naked in front of others, not even when Fred and Gunn told me it was wrong, but now, I felt somehow small, like a little boy again. Like the time Father wanted me to be more grown up than I was when he trained me to track. This fear was like that, the terror of not knowing what waits on the other side of adulthood, knowing that once the road is traveled, I can’t go back.

She presses me back against the bed. I lie braced against the sheets, willing this feeling to ebb. She and I had shared this bed before without the emotions racking me now. I have touched her but now that she wants me to, I am afraid. What if I do it wrong? I don’t know what to do when a man lies with a woman. No one ever told me. I have never seen a woman without clothing before. I know that they are different but I don’t know how.

My breath catches as Cordelia removes her shirt and bra. Her breasts look so soft but I am afraid to touch them now, even with her asking. My hands won’t move. My stomach does. I try not to vomit. This can’t be normal, to be this afraid. I pretended all this time to be an adult to Gunn and to Angel but it was a lie. I’m a boy and growing up scares me.

Cordelia straddles me, touching my hand to her breasts. I grow bolder. If I tell her I’m not ready, she’ll hate me. There is no other time. We will die before the dawn. She is giving me a gift, I remind myself. I know this to be true. This is my only night to grow up and be a man. The tips of her breasts are so soft under my rough fingers but they hardened. She guides my face to them. “Go ahead, Connor.”

Go ahead what? I don’t understand. I can’t ask. Can’t we just curl up together and wait for the end? That’s all I want. I don’t want this gift knowing I’ll never live to enjoy it. Maybe it’s better not to taste of joy I’ll never have. But parts of me go to war with my fear. I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t explain so I try just to feel. It was how I learned to fight, feel it out, do what felt natural. I press my lips her breast, and she makes an encouraging sound. I push my tongue against her, feeling her nipple harden more. I suck against her warm flesh, and she smooths my hair. I feel a tingling rush down between my legs. 

I have felt that rush before, know it to be a wanton thing that Father discouraged me feeling. He never explained beyond the fact that it was wrong unless I had a wife. I will never have one now so maybe it doesn’t matter. Cordy’s hands travel over me and I yelp when she hits the broken ribs. She mumbles apologies.

Her hand goes to my zipper and the confusion shoots as high as the fire in the sky. She pulls me up, her hands on my waistband, and suddenly I’m naked. She pushes me back on the bed again. Cordy stretches out beside me and her hand touches me intimately. My whole body tenses. I can’t move away.

“No,” I mumble, not sure why she’s doing this or why it feels so good.

“It’s okay, Connor. I won’t hurt you,” she whispers. “You love me, right? This is what people in love do.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. Thoughts don’t come. It’s like all of me has moved down to under my belly button, and all I know is the touch of her hand on my flesh. It grows hard, which has happened a time or two before, prompting Father’s lectures on wantonness. Yes, it must be a sin because it feels too good.

“You like this,” she said, not a question. I don’t answer. I don’t have to. “We’ll do this first so next time, it’ll be better, longer.”

I have no idea what she means. Her fist cups me, going faster. Oh God, it feels wonderful. Why was I so afraid, am still afraid? She lets me go and slips off the bed. I watch her remove the rest of her clothing. She is beautiful. Even through my trepidation, I desire her. My manhood is hard, arching upward. She rejoins me, her hand pushing my penis up against my belly as she strokes me.

Her scent has changed. This must be her own desire. Her hand moves more insistently and my breathing moves to match her speed. Oh, it hurts. I hear the ends of rib bones struggling against each other. Cordy doesn’t, she can’t. She’s not like me. Her senses are dull like Gunn and Fred’s. She smiles at me.

“You have such endurance. I should have known.”

I don’t know what she means. She lets me go, and I whimper. I don’t want her to stop, but I am hers to do with because without her I am lost. She lies beside me and guides my hand up her thigh. Her fingers move mine over her folds of flesh. She is hot and wet, and it is somehow inviting. I am wet all the way to my toes, fear, desire, and pain raising sweat all over me. She lets me explore on my own but I do it wrong. I know I do. I am clumsy but she doesn’t complain.

The fire between my legs has banked some. Breathing is easier. Cordy slips free of my hands. I pray that I haven’t disappointed her. What if she changes her mind now? But the expression on her face doesn’t say that I had or she would. She straddles me and my heart seizes. What happens now? My fists curl in the sheets. I don’t know how to touch her so I just let her teach me.

Cordelia caresses my hard flesh again, and then guides me inside her. I stop breathing for a moment, sensations overwhelming me. I had never been so connected to anyone. I want this to never end. How could God be so cruel as to let me know this existed on the last day of the world?

When I started breathing again, the pain is worse but the feel of Cordy on top of me, around me, drives it to the back of my mind. Even though I know it could happen, I am not prepared for the explosion of fluids from deep within me. Would she be mad? Give me that disappointed look Father had and tell me to clean up? Was it normal and I just didn’t know?

Then she kisses me, and I know everything was all right.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

Fuck it! I shouldn’t have thought hard on it. I couldn’t break down here. Holding myself together ever since the spell took supreme strength. I don’t think even Tshaya knew how hard it was, trying to pretend everything was all right. I stumbled outside, I’ll be damned if I’d let anyone see me cry. Of course the alley behind the art building had smokers in it. No problem. If I couldn’t hold back the tears, I’d blame the cigarettes. Everyone knew I couldn’t stand them.

“What’s up, Con Man?” 

I rolled my eyes. Killian Yazzie was probably my best friend in school, another art major. He hailed from Arizona, half Irish, half Navajo, with just enough of both to be a very handsome mix, grey eyes and dark skin and hair, which he wore long and tied in the traditional Navajo knot. He claimed it drove the ladies nuts but I’m not sure he did any better in the bedding department than I did. Then again, fucking artists was considered either cool or won’t-our-parents-hate-this by a lot of girls, and neither me nor Killian or any of the other artists I knew complained. “I’m fine.” I rubbed my eyes. Just don’t think about, Connor. Don’t think about how she tore you up.

I tried to banish Cordy from my mind, remove the memories of my first time with her and that second, better time that night when she wanted me on top in spite of the pain of my ribs as we cuddled and made love under the purple sheet. Fuck, purple, I had painted the purple sheet. I painted my fear, so lost, so young that I hadn’t even known an orgasm is normal. I felt less grown up now than I had then. How messed up am I? 

“You looked spooked.”

I couldn’t tell Killian I was having bad flashbacks to my first lover who fucked me, and then tore out my soul, leaving it in tatters with the biggest part still under her lock and key. I had been powerless against Cordy, so naive, so desperate to love and be loved. It doesn’t excuse the terrible things I did for her, those things I was praying weren’t true. I wouldn’t even pretend that they were reasons enough to do those things I think I might have done. I couldn’t tell Killian losing my virginity ended up, not only in making a baby but a hell goddess. That I kidnapped a girl and stood by watching my lover slaughter her, please don’t let that have been true, God. What am I? I summoned up a suitable lie for why I was upset. “I’m okay, just a little nervous, you know. We’re putting our children out on display.”

He laughed at me. “You’re such a girl, Irish.”

“Screw you. Like you’re not nervous.” I rolled my eyes at him. “That’s why you’re smoking a full pack before the event even kicks off.”

“My dad’s gonna be here,” Killian mumbled.

I knew it was big deal for him. His parents divorced eons ago when the allure of being married to a reservation cop wore off and his mom moved back to California to hug more trees. My dad wasn’t going to be here, neither dad, which was just as well. My ersatz dad didn’t get my work, and my real dad, well, I wasn’t ready to see him. “He’ll love your stuff. My dad’s not even going to be here until later in the week. He’s got that seminar.”

“What do they do at a mortuary science seminar?” Killian gave me a queasy look.

“I don’t ask.” I thought for a moment, trying to picture my faux dad’s business. “Maybe they talk about the latest in designer caskets, I guess. How to paint corpses for that life-like look.”

He laughed, smoke bubbling out of his mouth. “Gross.”

“Gross but profitable,” I said looking up, hearing the back door opening. Tshaya stood there.

I smiled at her as she came over to me. Tshaya looked hot in her blue dress with a key-holed neck that let me see a swell of breast and the hem, which kissed her mid-thigh and higher up one side where the blue gave way to red roses running down her leg and around the hem. A little butterfly bindi rode between her dark, feathery eyebrows and she had had her hands hennaed with all-seeing eyes and flowers sending reddish tendrils up the tanned skin of her arms. She was walking art. The snake twitched in its boxer cage. He’s been lonely since the spell broke. I was too deep into my artistic fugue to bother with getting laid, and there were other uglier concerns that I tried to shove into the same pit with the memories of Cordy.

“You okay, Connor?” She kissed me. “You’re shaking.”

“He’s being a sissy girl about his babies,” Killian offered.

“Smoke and shut up.” I put my arms around her. “I’m just having opening night jitters. They’re not just for actors anymore.”

“Poor boy.” She kissed me again. She tasted like pomegranate. She was going to go broke buying that juice. “You look very handsome though.” Her hand caressed my black leather-clad butt. 

I had gone all out; leather pants, red silk shirt and my hair gelled with deep red gel so the spikes looked dipped in fresh blood. I even had my earrings in. My overzealous healing ability always healed my piercings even before I was done wearing the jewelry so it hurt a little every time but I’d be damned if I’d be a slave to my body. All right, occasionally I was slave to the little head but you need that from time to time. “Thanks. You look gorgeous as ever.”

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten that.”

I scowled at the pain in her voice. Whose fault was that? I wanted to trust her but I wasn’t sure if I could. I knew now that her meeting me wasn’t an accident. It was set up by her clan’s elders. They knew I was the son of a monster, the creature they cursed. They wanted her to keep an eye on me. Breaking the spell so I’d remember my past was their idea. They had been cocking the gun. 

I wasn’t supposed to go on an art binge after that. They wanted a vampire-killing spree. I just wish I knew what Tshaya wanted. She said she hadn’t known what they really wanted with me. I wasn’t sure I believed her. I did believe her getting me naked wasn’t in their plans. They were furious with her. When she told them we actually had feelings for each other, I thought they were going to disown her. She threatened to leave them for me. Scarily enough I think we all believed her.

The worst part was, I knew I loved Tshaya even if I didn’t trust her completely. It was a hard place to be. I’ve been there with Cordy. I just didn’t know where that left us. Learning to trust, I guess because I think she was another one who had a key to the inner me.

“Sorry. You know how artists are, love,” I said.

“You’re all freaks.” She grinned.

“I resemble that remark,” Killian smirked.

“How much time do we have before this all kicks off?” Tshaya asked Killian.

“Oh, at least an hour before they open the doors. You have time to haul scrawny boy into woods and have your way with him,” Killian replied.

“That’s the plan.” Tshaya grabbed my arm, and started for the arboretum that wasn’t far from the art building.

“Where are we going?” I asked as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Did you miss the plan?” She grinned wickedly.

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought she was serious. Should I say no? I wanted to be with her, no doubt of it, but maybe it was the wrong thing to do until we figured out some things; like did I really mean more to her than a pet project for her Romani clan? Did she want me to murder my father like they did, and if so, if breaking the spell didn’t work was she going to twist my head around with sex and promises of love until I did what she wanted, just like Cordy. Why couldn’t my life just be easy?

Tshaya pushed me up against an ancient oak in the arboretum and kissed me voraciously. It wasn’t enough to drive the serpent of doubt out of my mind, and I think she knew it. She backed away.

“Will you ever believe me that I didn’t know why they wanted me to help you?” Tshaya whispered. 

I saw the tears in her eyes. “Tell me honestly, do you want me to kill Angel? Not what the clan wants, what you want.”

“I want you to follow your heart, and I don’t think it will lead you there,” she said, kissing my cheek. 

“And that’s okay with you?”

“How long should grudges be held?” Her breath was warm against my neck. “It’s time to let it go.”

“And about the clan’s eternal suffering?”

“Is their own damn fault.” There was heat in her voice. “If they would just let the wound heal, it all would have been forgotten a century ago. Hate feeds on itself, Connor. Do you know what happens if the curse on your father fails? He becomes the monster again. I’ve never understood that part of the spell. I think it’s time to fix things, and if my family doesn’t understand that then it’s time I found my own way.”

“Fix?” 

She shook her head. “Too soon to talk about it. Do you trust me, Connor?”

I looked into her wide eyes. Fix...she meant the curse, and it didn’t sound like fix by killing Angel. Maybe she had something that might actually help him, and I had no idea how to feel about that. Maybe it was chasing a myth. She didn’t seem to want to commit to anything. And I was stunned to hear her saying again she’d abandoned her clan for me. I knew what her heritage meant to her. It was a little scary, what she must be feeling for me.

“Connor?”

“I want to,” I replied honestly. I reached for her, kissing her softly.

“Can we be done talking now? I just want...” She broke off, her lips locking over mine again.

And I stopped talking, stopped thinking. I didn’t want to hurt anymore and just gave over control. I had such a bad habit if that, putting myself in a woman’s hands. And Tshaya’s hennaed hands were talented indeed. She dropped to her knees in the soft grass and acorns.

“You really mean...” I said, wondering how thick could I be. “What if someone sees?”

“I won’t be the one with my pants down.” She grinned up at me as she jerked my leather pants past my knees. “Besides, you need to relax before you vibrate your way through the showing.”

There was a stray thought about this still being too early, too close to the whole spell thing to trust her like this, followed by a thought about going to jail when we got caught, and then a stray glimmer about the ouchiness of bark against my bare butt. Then her warm lips touched my flesh and all thoughts went away. She swallowed me whole, the intricate designs on her hands a swirl of color as she stroked and massaged me. The bindi butterfly caught stray light, winking at me as her head moved.

Before long, I was holding onto the tree, trying to steady myself. The bark creaked under my strong hands. She might be on her knees but she was totally the one in control. The tree rained down some early acorns as I shook the thing when my orgasm hit me. In the future, trees that could whack one on the head would be off the list of places to make love. 

Laughing, Tshaya got up, brushing off her knees. She nipped my Adam’s apple as I dragged my pants back up. “More relaxed?”

“Yeah,” I lied. Truth was, I was even hornier now and just as keyed up coupled with all my doubts but I let her take my hand and lead me back to the art building.

We both disappeared into the bathrooms, just to double check for stains, not to mention acorns and leaves in the hair. I know no one would bother to tell me if there was; point, laugh and make sure everyone saw yes, tell me no. The front doors still weren’t open. I swung past Killian’s display. Much of it was Navajo-styled pottery but what I liked best were the scary, demonic creatures he crafted from clay. They were amazing as if part of him saw into that world, too. I hadn’t yet asked him about it. He had won a blue ribbon in pottery and had the best in show ribbon for his Navajo legend pot, which was just fantastic work and deserving of the award. I didn’t mind losing out to pure talent. It was when the talent-less but popular ones won that bugged me.

“Get laid?” he asked, fussing with a demon to make sure it got the best light.

“What do you think?”

He grinned over his shoulder at me. “It’s hard to say. You’re the master of shooting yourself in the foot.”

I scowled. “I am not.”

“Sure you are. You get all uptight all the time.” Killian glanced longingly back at the alley door, wanting another smoke but the front doors would open soon. 

“Fuck you.”

He pursed his lips at me. “I knew you were kinky.”

I grinned. “My girlfriend does have a coffin in her bedroom.”

“I know. I made this with you two in mind.” Killian waved me over to look a new show piece. It was a coffin with a half closed lid sheltering a couple in coitus. It was pretty easy to see the resemblance to me and Tshaya if one knew to look.

I wagged my head. “You’re a sick man, Killian.”

He raised his dark eyebrows. “Me? I’m not the one who does it in a coffin, Con Man.”

I took a closer look. “You made Tshaya a vampire. She’s not gonna find that funny.”

“Vampires are dominants, and I know which of you is begging for the whip in your relationship,” Killian explained, and I gave him the finger.

He laughed at me, and I moved off back to my display. He was right, of course. I was very much the bottom in our relationship. I looked for Tshaya and saw her taking newspaper shots of other displays before the place became crowded. Some of the professors were already prowling around, no doubt dreading what we students would do in front of the public that would reflect badly on the college. I tossed myself into the chair that was supposed to be the throne from which I would hold court should any parent be brave enough to want to talk to me about my art. Of course, chances of me actually sitting while I talked were slim to none so I took the time now to try and regroup.

My gaze fell on the picture of me and Tshaya. Killian’s words still rang in my ears. Not many people knew I even had a relationship with Tshaya, which is how we both wanted it. Technically I was supposed to be with Tracy still, and it suited me and Tshaya that people thought Tracy and I were still together. Who I was with was no one’s business, and what Tshaya and I did even less so. I wasn’t ashamed of our relationship but I wasn’t so naive as to think people would be accepting of it. Still, there had been a certain loss of innocence, every bit as frightening as my first time with Cordelia. Maybe now wasn’t the time to think about it but it beat thinking about whether or not it was wrong to keep up my relationship with her, not knowing her true heart, better than thinking about what I wanted to do with Angel, worrying about what was about to come through those front doors in a few minutes. With that thought echoing in my head, I let my mind off the chain and it wandered back to the night I crossed the line into a new chapter of my life.

 

X X X

I didn’t go into the fetish shop Tshaya worked in expecting anything. We were just friends. I was there simply to walk her home because her car had broken down. I don’t want her walking by herself to her apartment. Fascinated by the items in the shop, I putter about, waiting for her to be done. I had never looked at stuff like this before. It didn’t have a place in my uptight little rich boy world. Tracy would faint at the mere sight of some of this stuff.

I watch as Tshaya explains why newborn calf leather products are worth the extra money, no grain to the leather, feels like wearing human skin if that turns you on. It doesn’t for me, even when she waves me over and caresses me to demonstrate the glove’s effect, but it excites the customer. Other things intrigued me, even though I don’t know why. Even as I reached for a set of furred mittens, my eyes rested on the floggers, wondering what they would feel like.

“Vampire mitts,” Tshaya says, at my side, the customer out the door with his newborn calf leather.

“What?”

She pulls one on and strokes my arm. The bunny fur is sensual, ticklish as it moves over me. She slaps me lightly and I discover there are ‘teeth’ in the fur. “See?”

“Yes.” My eyes travel back to the floggers.

“Do you like them?” she asks, even though I’m sure it’s obvious.

“I’ve never....” I swallow hard, trying to find the words.

She caresses my neck with the vampire mitt. “Would you like to?”

I turn to face her, shocked. We have never talked about it. Maybe she knew that I watched her in class, a raging hard-on between my legs half the time thanks to her beauty. “I think...maybe.” Did I say that? Did I really want it? Sex with her, yes, I want that. Did I want the whip? Something in me feels very excited by the idea even if my brain isn’t convinced.

The vampire mitt gets replaced by the new born calf glove, which touches my cheek bringing my face to hers. I like the leather better this time. Her lips brush mine just briefly but the promise of more makes my head swim. Tshaya slips off the glove. “You’ve never done whip play?”

“No.” My hand goes to a flogger with long purple rubber strands.

“Not that,” she says, taking it from me. “Eighteen inches of fall, not for beginners. Rubber leaves welts and bruises. Do you want to start heavy duty like that?”

I shake my head, not really sure what I want. My cock twitches at the thought of that kiss of pain. No, I decide, I don’t want to be welted up. I point to another. “That?”

“You want to hit the ground running.” She takes the new flogger off the rack. “Australians make great leather products. This is kangaroo, and it can cut. It’s not what I’d recommend for beginners.”

“What do you recommend?” I am incredibly turned on and don’t care if she or a stray late-night customer notices.

She takes one out, red and black, almost beautiful to look at, art in leather. Half the fall is braided; the rest is in curling strips. “Elk, it’s one of the most sensual of the leathers, the ends are tender, a gentle kiss. The braids are a little more punishing. They’ll bruise, and they make a wonderful thud when they hit. This one is my favorite but for a first timer, this.” She replaces the half-braided one for a flogger with a mop of curling black leather tendrils. “This will cover the whole back. It’s still elk. Even its scent is exotic.” She puts the flogger to my nose.

I love the smell of leather. There is something comforting about it that I don’t understand. It made me even harder. She caresses me lightly with the tip of the flogger moving over my jeans-clad crotch. I gasp. 

“You want to?” she asks as if there is some doubt.

“Yes,” I breathe, wanting to go now.  
“Go over there and wait for me,” she points to a corner, her voice stern now, commanding, and it makes me hotter. “Think of a safe word, and I’ll put together a surprise for you.”

I stumble into my corner, not wanting to wait, not wanting to lose this unexpected excitement. I had never thought of being submissive before but it felt right somehow to give myself to her. Soon we were walking back to her place. Her roommates are at the house. I swear they’re all staring as she leads me to her bed room. They’ll know, and it makes me a little nervous, tummy roiling. What had I gotten myself into? Is it too late to change my mind?

She shuts the door. “Don’t worry about them. They won’t be listening,” she says as if reading my mind. She caresses my arm. “Are you sure you want to try this?”

_Last chance, Connor, you don’t come back from this._ “I want to,” I say but my body was racing ahead of my mouth. 

Tshaya kisses me, and I don’t think of Tracy, my so-called girlfriend, the only girl I’ve ever been with. When I made love to Tracy, I always saw a dark-haired lovely woman in my mind’s eye. As Tshaya’s lips move over mine, I see no one but her. She pushes me on the bed, and picks up the bag she brought with her from the store. She takes out black cuffs, four of them. She touches the inside of them to my face. “Suede-lined. They won’t hurt or bruise you. Do you want to try them?”

I nod, my tongue feeling too big to talk. Tshaya strips me, kissing and caressing as she goes. I don’t know if I can even hold on until the games begin. I haven’t felt this out of control since junior high. She pulls a curtain aside and reveals a device I hadn’t been expecting. She isn’t going to tie me to the bed, at least not at first.

I obediently let her take me to the device, and she straps me in. The suede is soft against my skin, and I’m afraid but it only makes me want to do this more. She strokes my cock, making it jump. “What’s the safe word?” she whispers, and I tell her. I trust her even without it. 

She takes out the mop of elk skin. She lets the tendrils touch my skin, feather light as she kisses me again. She brushes my penis with it, the leather like lips. My knees feel weak. Tshaya goes behind me, and I hear the soft whish of the flogger before it kisses my back. It’s light, like a caress, no pain at all. The next hit is harder, touching me with a dull thud. Tshaya is silent as she works the mop flogger until my back and buttocks are tingling, and I’m so hard I’m moaning, begging for release.

Tshaya leans up against my sensitive back. She’s still dressed, her silk shirt adding another layer of sensation. Her teeth capture my earlobe as she brushes the mop over my nipples.

“Tshaya, please...” is all I could manage.

“Don’t hold back, Connor,” she whispers, her hand cupping my cock as she continued to brush my nipples with the leather.

I cum almost as soon as she touches me. Her lips press against my neck, and I’m left dangling by my wrists. When I can breathe again, she asks, “Ready for more?”

“God, yes.”

Tshaya steps in front of me, setting the mop aside. She slowly strips, and I am helpless to assist her, to touch her, to taste her. All I can do is watch, which is more torture than the mop. It’s too soon for me to be erect again but it wouldn’t take long. Tshaya took out a new flogger from the bag, the fancy one with the tendril tips and the braided fall.

She goes behind me again. “If it’s too much, use the safe word.”

I had no intention of uttering the word, ‘angel.’ The tendrils of the flogger kiss my still-sensitive back. This is wonderful. Tied up, I never felt freer. There is a change in the sound of the flogger, and this time the knots hit me. It hurt. I gasp, surprised. She goes back to the light tips again, and then came the switch and the knots and braids hit with a harsh thud. I groan. The knots and braids keep coming, and I feel like I am in another place. The pain takes me there, and it is a place I don’t want to leave. My cock is hard again, arching upwards, hoping for her touch. As the flogging goes on, I am wet, slick with sweat. My legs go weak and my back and buttocks throb from the blows.

Suddenly she stops and runs her tongue up my back. My head falls back, my hair wet with perspiration, sticking to my shoulders. She nibbles my shoulders, and then my neck. She fondles my balls as I moan. Tshaya sets aside the flogger and gets on her knees. She frees my ankles from the cuffs, and I lose my footing, dangling from my wrists. As I regain my balance, she licks the tip of my cock, and then slips me deep inside her mouth. I shut my eyes as the new, warm, wet sensation overwhelms my already inundated senses. My body thrums with pain and pleasure but I’m too overcome by the mix to be near a climax. I think she knows it and is happy for it. She is not done with me and that I know without being told. 

She undoes one of my wrists, and then slips an arm around me. Supporting me, she frees me completely, and I sag against her, trembling. She takes me to the bed, lying me down. She looks back at the cuffs. “Do you want to be tied to the bed?”

“No,” I mumble. “Want to touch you.” 

My back is on fire as I lay on the soft cotton sheets. She offers me her breasts. My fingers trail over them as I suck on the sweet, soft skin of her neck before moving up to her mouth. I savor her tongue as it plunges into me. Her fingers toy with my nipples, and then reach down to play with my foreskin. I moan into her mouth. 

Tshaya moves so I can reach between her legs without having put stress on my battered back. She’s slick and warm as my fingers glide into her. She grinds against my hand, and then suddenly pulls away. She looks down at me with her commanding eyes, and I wonder what comes next. I am her lamb. She is my slaughter, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I have a final treat.”

Tshaya gets off the bed and takes another toy from the bag. The way she holds it, she looks like she has a bouquet of blue roses. She lets her hand fall away, and I see it’s another flogger with leather rose tips. She teases my cock with the flowers, and then lays the braided part of the fall across my thigh. I tense on the bed, balling my hands in the sheets. She alternates soft tickling roses with the knots behind them as her talented wrist torments my thighs but ever so careful not to catch the delicate flesh of my manhood with the braided leather. My hips lift from the bed, the demands for release thudding in my brain in time with the thuds of leather on my skin.

“Tshaya,” I breathe, not able to form words.

She drops the flogger and straddles me. Her fingers toy with me, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt fatter or harder as she rolls a condom down over me. I start begging for her, and she smiles as she lowers herself on me, maddeningly slow as she went. Every attempt on my part to thrust myself deep was met with a torturous withdrawal on her part, teasing me until finally she let me sheath myself in her. 

She lowers herself on me, barely rocking on me, keeping me wanting. Her lips brush mine, and then she sits back, her eyes catching mine. I see her giving me some of my control back, and I roll her over so I’m on top. The air from the ceiling fan raises gooseflesh over my sensitive back as I thrust into her harder.

“Faster,” she demands.

And I comply, my hips crashing into hers. The bed grumbles and groans under the vehemence of my movements. She makes short cries as I continue to slam into her, and then her back arches, and she screams. I feel her orgasm rain down all over me. I thrust into her even harder and faster and her cries echo in my ears as her thighs crush my hips. My orgasm hits, taking my breath away. Unable to think, I collapse against her, still buried to the hilt in her. Tshaya’s legs keep me pinioned there, her breath ragged in my ear.

“Where did you learn to make love like that?” she asks finally.

“It was for you,” I mumble, my brain keying in on the words ‘make love.’ I hadn’t come here thinking of love and suddenly I am overwhelmed with the desire to be loved. I want meaning and form. Love over sex. Everything else is a lie and what was tonight about? Love? Lies? Sex? Kink?

“You’re beautiful,” she tells me.

I could live in this moment.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

The sounds of an influx of voices shook me out of my reverie; probably a good thing Tshaya had just done me the huge favor in the arboretum or that trip through my twisted mind’s memories would have had me starting off the ‘meet the parents’ with a boner. I didn’t need that kind of humiliation though I suppose arousal could be countered with the thought that my subconscious mind had played an evil trick on me by selecting my father’s name as my safe word. It made my skin crawl. My mind roiled with thoughts of how I wanted something real, and all I ended up with were lies. No, no thinking on what’s real always brings me back to Cordy, and no matter how much I loved her, there was too much pain and lies on that path. There were lies with Tshaya, too, but I think we were weaving our own special truth from them.

I went looking for her and found her talking to Dr. Boeshar, one of my least favorite professors. I’m sure he was giving her all sorts of useless advice on how to frame her shots or something. I hoped I could avoid his classes in the future because he certainly had no appreciation of my work. Maybe that was because it really was crap and I just couldn’t see that it was, but I doubt it. Boeshar liked bland. He was a stickler for form, and he stifled any creativity he found, granted some people could use a little stifling. Joanne Cunningham did well in his class, never failing to earn praise. Joanne was a sweet, grandmotherly type taking the class for fun because she always wanted to paint and now in her seventies she was. She did do very nice landscapes. I liked her. Her stuff was safe. You could hang it in your living room without your guests calling in the psychiatrists on you. Tracy did that to me once over some of my art.

“Hey, Con Man.” 

I turned and saw Killian waving at me from his display. I went over to him. “Yeah?”

Killian smoothed his hands down the front of his pants. “Do I look okay?”

Don’t let guys tell you we don’t care about our appearance because we do. Killian was looking good, I guess since I’m no judge of men, in his black jeans and black velvet shirt. He wore an enormous double strand squash blossom necklace with turquoise chunks half the size of my thumb. He had a silver and turquoise wrist band that looked like it weighed five pounds and could smash a skull. “Yeah. Me?”

“I’m assuming she left the sucker bites where they won’t be seen.” His grey eyes glinted, and I grimaced at him. His expression changed. “Are you sure you’re okay? I was calling your name but you just kept staring at that picture of you and Tshaya.”

Damn, I was hoping my distraction wasn’t so obvious. “Just lost in my own world. I’m fine.”

“Wish Dad would get here. Did you hear representatives of a big law firm are gonna be here and buy a student piece?” Killian looked very excited. “I guess the firm is a sponsor of the program here.”

“I didn’t hear that.” I turned my gaze back to my three self-portraits. Was I ready to sell them? Were they too much a part of me to ever be given away? God, Killian’s right. I’m such a wuss sometimes.

“Wolfram and Hart. Wonder if they’re already here. I’d hate to make an ass of myself, which you know if half our classmates start talking to me is likely to happen,” Killian said but I was only half listening. “You’ll tell me if I’m being an ass, right?”

“Wolfram and Hart?” I growled. Oh, just perfect, the law firm that wanted to dissect me. This was all I needed, and I wouldn’t know them when they got here because the only employee I knew, Lilah, was dead.

“Yeah, cool, huh? Oh, great! Dad!” Killian waved his hand overhead.

I saw a short, barrel-chested bull of a man grin broadly. With his dark skin and short, grey-fleck ebon hair, and a ton of silver and turquoise Navajo jewelry, there was no doubting that had to be Detective Yazzie.

Killian hugged his dad. “You found the place.”

“With your meticulous directions, how could I get lost?” Yazzie pounded Killian’s back.

“Dad, this is Connor O’Shaughnessy,” Killian said, dragging me forward.

Yazzie beamed and shook hands. “Killian’s told me a lot about you. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

“Same here, sir. I’ll let you two catch up and I’d better get back to my display.”

“We’ll swing by,” Killian promised.

“Great.” _Oh boy, a homicide detective looking at my psychotic art_.

I went back to my display, watching people alternating between fascinated and giving it a wide berth. Tshaya caught me chatting up the flock of Goth chicks that loved my stuff and half of them loved me. One had already intimated I could meet her in the bathroom. Tshaya heard that and surely saw me ogling the girl’s spider web-covered breasts. I was going to get paddled with the vampire mitt tonight or worse, I’d be sleeping at my place all alone.

I smiled at her, my eyes begging for rescue. She was enjoying watching me suffer the Goths. Finally, she came over but the Goth girls didn’t take the hint. I reached over to her. “Tshaya, Killian’s dad is here. Bet he’d like a picture or two.”

“Sure but let’s get you and the girls.” She smiled sweetly at me and ordered the Goths to cluster around me. She snapped a few pictures, and then managed to shoo the Goths off.

“One of them groped me,” I hissed.

“Like you didn’t enjoy it.” She groped me herself.

“Oh gee, sorry you had to see that, Dad,” Killian said, coming up to us with his father. I felt my cheeks burning hot.

The senior Yazzie just smirked at us.

“I was just sending Tshaya to take some picture of you and your dad,” I said defensively.

“Sure you were.” Killian’s eyes flicked to my crotch.

I shifted uncomfortably. “I was.”

“Yes, he wanted more time alone with his Goth girls.” Tshaya patted my head.

“He’s a dog. Dump him and go out with someone with class, like me,” Killian grinned.

“Aren’t you a worse dog than Connor?” Tshaya batted her eyes at him.

“That’s my boy.” Yazzie patted his son’s shoulder. “My bad, bad boy.”

“Did you want to have a look at my work, sir?” I jumped in before it could degenerate further. “Feel free to look around.”

“And run screaming,” Killian said.

“Remember asking me to tell you if you’re being an ass, Killian?” I scowled. “Oh and Tshaya, please make sure you get some shots of Joanne. You’d think this is the biggest day of her life.”

“Yeah, I think she’s ranking this over her grandson’s wedding,” Killian put in.

“I’m on it.”

She kissed me before heading off to Mrs. Cunningham’s display of landscapes. I turned to Mr. Yazzie who was studying my self-portraits.

“You and Killian are talking about moving in together next semester,” Yazzie said.

“Uh-oh, this is where Dad forbids me to live with the potential axe murderer,” Killian said.

“You don’t have to live with me to make me consider axing you from time to time,” I grumbled, wishing I knew what prompted his dad to say that.

“These are very intense.” Yazzie waved a hand at my paintings, and then turned his dark gaze on me. “I was wondering how two intense young men can get along.”

“Totally different mediums, sir. I make art. Killian plays with mud,” I said, and Killian lightly kidney punched me.

Yazzie laughed. “Yes, he always has.”

“Yeah, well when you’re struggling to sell these bits of psychosis, I can go to Renn fairs and throw a shit-load of mugs and goblets and rake in the money. Not artistically stimulating but it’ll pay the bills.” Killian pouted.

“That’s right, aren’t we supposed to be going to one soon?” I had nearly forgotten the Renn Fest. It was time to sketch big-boobed chain mail chicks or slender fairy girls for quick sale.

“Yes, so have your costume ready.”

“I’m not wearing a costume,” I protested.

“You have to.” Killian insisted.

“No! Tshaya wants me to wear a codpiece with bells dangling off it.” I shuddered.

“You should see what’s dangling off of mine.” Killian shot me a shit-eating grin.

“Do I want to see it?” Yazzie asked.

Killian blushed. “Your eyes might fall out, Dad.”

“Figured as much,” Yazzie said, trying not to smirk.

“And you’re going in costume, Con Man, if I have to sit on your scrawny butt and dress you myself,” Killian said.

“Is this the time to remind you that I have access to my dad’s crematorium?” I grinned.

“If I go missing, you’ll be the first stop on Detective Yazzie’s path of vengeance,” Killian replied.

“Guess I’ll need to plot out my alibi now,” I shot back.

“He’s quick.” Yazzie smiled at me. “I like your stuff, young man. I especially like this one.” He pointed to _Childhood Denied_. “There is a lot of rage in it.”

“There really is,” I replied, and Yazzie’s dark eyes met mine. He wouldn’t ask about my childhood. Killian told me that was the hardest part of his dad’s job as a detective was getting past the Navajo cultural distaste about asking questions. I didn’t feel like elaborating however. I guess my nature was to be a little taciturn.

“I’m glad you like them, sir. I was afraid that my stuff might be disturbing.” I made a face.

“A little but that’s not always a bad thing for art to be.” Yazzie pointed to my ribbon.

“Keep that in mind, Dad, when Karla and Paul start their performance art,” Killian said.

“Are they really going to do it?” I asked, not really wanting to see this. Performance art tends to be crap most of time.

“Supposed to.” Killian shrugged. “Why don’t you go wander around, Dad, see the rest of the show. I see some professors heading our way.”

Killian and his dad both moved off. I went back to my chair briefly. No one seemed moved to come talk to me. For a moment I sort of wished Dad could be here, my fake dad. Maybe it was just as well he wasn’t. He didn’t get my art. It made him uncomfortable. I knew he loved me but he didn’t understand me. Maybe it was because I wasn’t his kid. Would Angel understand my art? Did I want him to? What would that mean? After all, we had known each other at first sight but did we understand each other at all?

Tshaya made her way back to me, holding two wine glasses in one hand and a plate of strawberries in the other. She gave me a supporting smile as two obviously sheltered parents looked my stuff over critically, and then moved on. “Think they liked it?”

I shrugged as she gave me the wine. “Who knows. I’m still trying to decide who might be working for Wolfram and Hart.”

Her dark eyes slotted, the butterfly on her forehead dancing. “Didn’t you tell me they were a law firm that wanted to kidnap you and do experiments?”

“Something like that.” I quaffed half my glass of wine in one long swallow. “Turns out they’re sponsoring the art department.”

She slid an arm around me. “What does that mean?”

I squirmed free, not in the mood all of the sudden to be touched. “Could be just a tax shelter or something for them,” I replied, seeing zombie Wolfram and Hart lawyers in my mind’s eye. 

“Connor, what’s wrong?” She stroked my cheek, pressing a strawberry to my lips. I ate it obligingly.

“Nothing,” I lied, and then caught a scent of something. It was hard to tell one scent from another with this many people in one place, especially since everyone was dressed up. People tended to over perfume when they did that. There it was again. Oh, god no!

“Connor, you’re shaking,” she whispered.

“This is bloody boring,” someone whined loudly. I didn’t know the blond man doing the whining but I knew his companions. The blond was in a black duster, black jeans and a red shirt and Angel was in black leather pants and a scarlet velvet shirt. Oh, for the love of God, I was dressed just like my dad and the other vampire. Please, just strike me dead. The only difference was the gel in the vampires’ hair wasn’t blood red like mine. Gunn didn’t look like Gunn. Was he wearing a Versace suit? He looked good in pin stripes regardless.

“Why did you even come, Spike?” My father was saying. “Gunn and I have to be here to represent Wolfram and Hart. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

“They have free food and booze.” The blond man hung back to ogle a student in one of those obscene micro-skirts. 

“Go find it then,” Gunn said, looking exasperated.

Suddenly Angel stopped and turned to my display. There was horror in his eyes even before he saw my work. He obviously had smelled me just as I did him. He had no idea I was going to be here; I could see that much in his gaze. He stared at me, and I tried not to look at him. Don’t let him realize I know who he is! He’ll know I’m not still under the spell. He can’t look at my work and not see himself. His mouth dropped open, seeing my paintings but Angel made no sound, no move toward me. Angel was totally captivated by the one of mom. From his expression, he recognized her, thought of her fondly...oh god, that meant she was real. It had all happened. Had Cordelia killed that girl? What had I done? I felt like I wanted to vomit.

“Hey, that looks like you,” the blond said, pointing to the picture of Angel looking in the window as Cordelia came toward my balled-up little body in her painting, dragging me out of those miserable thoughts. There was no avoiding Dad now.

“What are you talking about, Spike?” Gunn asked, and then stared. He saw _The Hollow Man_ and obviously recognized himself and Fred.

How did I play this? I didn’t want to confront my father here. If I had had any clue Angel would be here, I wouldn’t have exhibited any of this. I wouldn’t have come. And since when did he and Gunn work for Wolfram and Hart? They were enemies, and yet here they were buying student art as a write off for the law firm. It made no sense. And who was Spike, other than a vampire my father knew? I could scent the subtle difference between him and a living human even under the veneer of cigarette smoke. What had happened in these last months when I was spelled that had changed things so radically?

I turned from them casually, or at least I hoped so. Hoping my feigning not knowing them was working, I took Tshaya’s arm, drawing her close. I whispered, “Go, now, Tshaya. Go take pictures, something anything, just don’t be here.”

Her pupils dilated. “But, Connor...”

“No, go. I can handle this but not if you could be in danger,” I hissed, knowing Angel might be able to hear me anyhow over the din.

She nodded and headed off. Tshaya stopped, looking over her shoulder at me. “ _A-ko isi pomo shinava tumen_.”

I shook my head. She couldn’t help me now. I turned back to them, bringing my hands out to encompass my display. “Can I answer any questions for you?”

“Yeah.” Spike gestured at Tshaya. “Got her phone number?”

“Yes, but I generally don’t give out my girlfriend’s number.” I smiled flatly.

“Spike, go away. You’re an embarrassment,” Gunn said. “Besides, how do you call a girl that speaks a different language?”

“That was Gypsy,” Spike shrugged, shocking me.

“He’s right,” Angel said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it though.”

Gunn just raised an eyebrow at them, and then came over to me. “I do have an art related question. Where did you come up with the models for these painting? I think you can see the resemblance to me and Angel.”

I nodded, thinking fast. “You’re with Wolfram and Hart, right?”

“He’s a lawyer, and the poof here heads up the place,” Spike replied, earning twin glares.

For a second, I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t expecting that. Since when did Angel head up Wolfram and Hart? Since he murdered Lilah? The hesitation cost me. The shock had to show on my face. Angel’s eyes narrowed. _Damn, he knows. He knows I know who he is_. Angel wanted to say something. I could see the words forming on his lips. What happens next? Do we fight again? It’s all we ever do. We can’t talk to one another. Our fists say it for us, whether we’re fighting each other out of anger or if we’re fighting to save each other. It used to be the reason I breathed but now it’s choking me up. I couldn’t fight him, not here, not until I knew what I really wanted. I needed to know more but this wasn’t the time or place. “My dad has a lucrative contract with your firm. I probably saw your pictures in the company quarterly reports or something and decided you had a good look. I do that without even remembering where I get it from.”

“Hmm,” Gunn murmured, looking at Angel. If there weren’t pictures in the reports, I was so screwed. Maybe I should have said company picnic. Fuck it, what difference did it make? Angel saw it for the lie it was, I could see that much. The weird part was that Gunn didn’t seem to recognize me. Maybe he was under the spell I had been. What the fuck had Angel been playing at with this magic?

“I hope that doesn’t offend you,” I said, hoping to regain that air of ‘I don’t know these people from Adam.’

Gunn shrugged. “Not really. It’s kinda neat. At least you didn’t keep putting me out in the cold like you did Angel.” He pointed to Angel outside the windows looking in.

“He felt like he belonged there.” I made eye contact with my father and he flinched. “No offense.”

Angel didn’t say anything, just looked back up at the picture. He touched the blue ribbon on _Childhood Denied_. “This one is very good.”

“Everyone seems to like it. The rumor mill says you’re here to buy something.” I hoped I sounded anxious like an art student begging for a sale and not anxious like ‘I’m going to fly apart at any second.’

“Just don’t hang that in my room if you buy it,” Spike said. “No offense, kid but you’re one damaged little bastard.”

I laughed. “So it’s been said.”

Angel whirled around, a very protective look in his eye. “Spike, go find the free booze or something.”

“Ignore him,” Gunn offered. “Spike doesn’t speak for the firm.”

“That’s hardly the worst thing that’s been said about me and my art. Trust me, there are a lot of parents roaming around here looking at me like I should be isolated from their babies immediately,” I replied, seeing Killian and Tshaya coming up to me. Killian looked eager. Of course, Tshaya told him these were the buyers from Wolfram and Hart, and they were coming to my rescue even if Killian didn’t know it. Tshaya was probably gambling that Wolfram and Hart agents wouldn’t make a big bloody public scene.

“Hey, Con Man, do you know where my dad is? Karla and Paul are starting their show back by the food spread, and I don’t want him to see that,” Killian said, rolling his eyes at Angel and then at Gunn as if to say ‘introduce me, you jackass.’

“Haven’t seen him. This is Killian Yazzie,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “He’s the winner of best in show. Killian, these gentlemen are from Wolfram and Hart...well, not Spike it seems but the others.”

Killian puffed up. “Pleased to meet you.”

Angel smiled at him. “You did the winning pot, the one with the stars and Changing Woman?”

Killian’s eyes lit up and I stared in shock. How the hell did Angel know that? “You know _Estsanatlehi_?”

“I’ve heard her legends,” Angel replied. “It’s a wonderful piece.”

“Thank you, sir.” Killian looked fit to burst out of his skin at the praise.

“Tshaya,” I said softly. “Why don’t you go take pictures of Karla and Paul?” I’m sure from the expression on my face she knew I wanted her out of Angel’s reach should things go bad.

“Because I don’t want pictures of that!” She sniffed, fixing me with a look that said hell couldn’t move her.

“Bad stuff?” Gunn asked.

“Performance art,” I supplied. “They’re naked, pouring red paint all over themselves to symbolize Bush’s blood spilling in Iraq. It’s kinda crap unless you go in for that sort of thing.”

“Naked?” Spike’s blue eyes danced. “Is she worth it?”

“Karla?” I shrugged. “If you like them a size 2, with no boobs and hips. I prefer a few curves.”

Tshaya gave me the evil eye, and then turned it on Spike, seeing him ogle her.

“I can tell,” he said.

Angel wanted to give him a shove to send him on his way, one of those shoves that could send you through walls. I could tell.

“You have bigger problems than irritating your girl,” Killian said. “Tu-tu Guy coming your way.”

“Oh, no,” I deflated. Tshaya just readied her camera.

“What?” Angel looked utterly confused.

I pointed at the tall young man heading our way in a pink silk camisole, white tutu and torn pink polka dotted tights. Coarse black hair stuck out all over from his outfit. “He always shows up at art shows around town, pretty much dressed like this. For all I know he thinks he’s performance art. He’ll park himself in front of my display and just stand there not talking to anyone.”

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Gunn said.

“Do not take pictures of the Tu-Tu Guy with my art,” I told Tshaya.

“Live with it, Connor,” she said, taking a picture of Angel and Spike first. Sure enough the Tu-Tu Guy glared at me, and then stopped in front of Cordy’s picture, his back to it as he stood and looked out over the crowd.

“It’s part of being famous. He’s hitting everyone with a ribbon. He got me earlier,” Killian said, chucking my shoulder. “Besides, what do they say about fleeting glory?”

“I hate that stupid saying,” I said, my lips skinning back.

“It’s true,” Killian assured me, waving at the Tu-Tu Guy. “One day glory will fade, you’ll be gone and this will be all that’s left.”

I rolled my eyes. “And I bet on my grave they’ll put ‘ _Sic Transit Gloria_...Glory Fades’ just to piss me off.” I looked at Angel when I said it but he kept any reaction off his face.

“Well, you can die young and save yourself from fading,” Killian said. “But not before you go nuts and I can make a fortune selling my story to the movie-of-the-week. ‘We all knew Connor was odd. I mean, he has a coffin in his bedroom. But I never dreamed he was this mad until the body parts started showing up in the freezer’.”

“If there’s going to be any body parts in our freezer, they’ll be yours, Killian,” I growled and off Angel’s horrified look at the coffin crack, I added, “And I don’t have a coffin. My girlfriend has a coffin.” Tshaya pinched me.

“That _you_ bought her. I’m still trying to figure out how it works with the cage,” Killian said. I almost laughed at how thunderstruck Dad looked.

“The cage works more with the collection of leather toys,” Tshaya said, giving Angel a vicious look. Obviously her Romani clan had taught her nothing about the dangers of vampire baiting. Angel just seemed so overwhelmed I nearly felt sorry for him. I should come armed with Killian and Tshaya the next time I spoke with my father knowing that eventually I would have to do it.

“Guys, this is a conversation we can have when the nice members of Wolfram and Hart aren’t standing here and might buy something unless we _scare them off_!” I said, realizing one of the professors had overheard and was scowling at us, trying to get us to act right. Like there was a chance of that.

“If they buy art, they already know how weird artists are,” Tshaya said, slinging back her dark hair, her hennaed hand trailing over those lovely locks.

“And if they didn’t know, all they have to do is look at your stuff and figure it out,” Killian said.

“Again, don’t make me remind you about me having access to my dad’s crematorium,” I said. “Or worse, I can go track down your dad and tell him you’ll be joining in Karla and Paul’s art.”

“Bully.” Killian’s eyes opened wide. “Hey, looks like she has the same hair dresser as you, Con Man.” Killian pointed to a woman in brown leather with hair streaked in blue. She was so hot, and then I realized it was Fred. Only, Fred would never come out looking like this, and there was something different about her, a coldness, an otherworldliness to her. As she got closer I saw that she had a band of blue painted on her forehead and icy blue eyes; could be make up and contacts but something told me no, there was more to it than that. 

“What is she doing here?” Gunn asked, looking almost panicked. “Why didn’t Wes call and warn us?”

Angel pulled the phone out of his pocket and squinted at it. “Um, maybe this isn’t turned on.”

That’s good to know. Dad might be almost three hundred years old but he can’t work a cell phone. Proves he’s not perfect no matter what his friends tried to lead me to believe.

“That’s the last time you get to be in charge of the phone. We’d better head Illyria off,” Gunn said, taking the phone from Angel. 

“Don’t think you’ll need to do that. She’s coming this way,” I said. Illyria? When did Fred get a name change? When she got closer, I could tell for sure this wasn’t Fred. Her scent was slightly off, almost rotten in a way I couldn’t explain, not bad, sort of like over ripe bananas. 

She cocked her head at my paintings, and then turned to Spike. “Why have you come to such a place? What does this mean?” She reached for _The Hollow Man_ but Angel stopped her before she could touch the canvas. “Why has someone put a rendition of my shell here?”

She didn’t even sound like Fred, whatever this thing was in her body. I was fairly sure I didn’t want to know. Tshaya was spooked, I think, from the way she tucked against me. Killian was looking at Fred...Illyria’s breasts captured in that ‘how-is-she-breathing’ leather outfit. I couldn’t help but follow his gaze even though I knew it was wrong.

“These two desire this body.” Illyria pointed at us.

“Big surprise. Come on, Blue, let’s get you home,” Spike said.

“But I do not wish to return. Wesley went to sleep. There was nothing to do so I followed you,” she said, as Spike took her arm.

“We’re going now, Illyria. You come with us,” Angel said gently, as if talking to a child. He gave me a regretful look.

I felt like I had just been handed a death row pardon. If he left now, I wouldn’t have to deal with him tonight, and I was happy. I just wasn’t ready for him.

“Hey, Wes,” Gunn said into the cell phone. “We have her, don’t worry about it...yeah, the big guy still can’t figure out how these things work. He’s banned from now on.”

Angel glowered at Gunn who tucked the phone away. Angel took Illyria’s arm but she shook free. I saw the worried look in his eyes. That’s all I needed to know that this thing could put up one hell of a fight if she wanted to and that we could all be in danger. I had no way of getting my friends to safety if something happened.

“Come on, Blue. This stuff will just bore you. Let’s get you back to the lab. You can count dust motes or something. We can play ‘guess how many brain cells Angel has’.”

“Can I remove his skull cap?” Illyria asked, still totally deadpan but there was a glint in her blue eyes.

“Not tonight,” Spike said, trying to propel Illyria off.

“You’re not leaving yet, I hope.”

We all turned hearing Dr. Boeshar’s voice. He swept up behind us with Keith Davey in tow. Keith was one of Boeshar’s toadies with all the creativity of pissing in the wind on a snowy day and calling the resulting pattern art.

“It’s still quite early,” Boeshar went on to say. “Have you had a chance to peruse all the student art? You’ll find we have some very good offerings.” His eyes flicked to me as if to say I wasn’t a good offering.

“Some better than the ones that got ribbons.” Keith glared at me. “Some people don’t understand there’s more to good art than just being weird.”

“And others understand there’s more to art than strict lines on paper evoking no emotions at all,” I said, and Killian snickered.

“So what are you evoking, O’Shaughnessy? Nausea?” Keith shoved a lock of his white-blond hair back.

“Awards it appears,” I retorted, and Killian laughed louder. Keith curled his lip at me, making me think I had my own personal Draco Malfoy. God, my mind could be ludicrous at times.

“I’m afraid we have to go,” Angel said. “Our...colleague isn’t feeling well.” He gestured to Illyria.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Boeshar said.

“Must have let her look at O’Shaughnessy’s shit too long,” Keith muttered.

“I am fine. This body does not sicken,” Illyria protested, dragging Spike to a halt.

“She likes to put up a brave front,” Gunn said, going to help Spike.

“I hope that you did find something worthy of your attention, at the very least. If not, please feel free to return any time this month. The student displays will remain up that long,” Boeshar said.

“We actually found some things we’d like,” Angel said, looking at me. “Mr. Yazzie’s Changing Woman pot for one.”

“Really? You mean that?” Killian asked, and I expected him to break out in a jig at any second. “Thank you, sir. That’s great. I have to go tell my dad.”

I pushed Tshaya after Killian as he took off. She glared at me but followed him anyhow.

“And we’d like this one of Mr. O’Shaughnessy’s.” Dad pointed to the one of Mom. I knew he’d say that. He might want the self-portraits of me more, but I knew he wouldn’t take them from me. The one of Mom, that’s a different story. I allowed myself a gloating look aimed Keith and Boeshar’s way.

“Thank you, sir. She’s one of my favorites,” I said.

“It shows,” Angel said, looking after Spike and Gunn who had nearly managed to get Illyria to the door. “I need to go.”

“Just have someone call to make arrangements for the art, Mr. Angel. We’ll take care of packing and delivering it,” Boeshar said.

“I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me.” He gave them a pointed look and Boeshar took the hint, disappearing with Keith. Angel turned to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Connor.”

I jerked away, shaking my head. “I can’t. I’m not ready.” God, wasn’t that the truth?

“You know...”

I whirled on him. “No. Not now. I can’t. When I’m ready, I’ll find you.”

He looked so hurt that it made me ache. I had a million questions. I wanted to scream how much I hated him. I wanted to hold him and tell him how much I loved him. I just stood there, shaking hard. He touched my cheek. “I’ll be waiting. Connor, your girlfriend...she might not be all she seems.”

“I know who she is, and what clan she’s from.” I turned away from him. I heard him start to walk off. I turned back. “Angel.”

 

He twisted around. I could see all the things he wanted me to say written on his face. All I said was, “Go over to Mrs. Cunningham’s display on the way out. Buy a little something. It would mean so much to her.”

He smiled. “I’ll do that.”

“Thanks.”

I watched him go. That had been too easy. I expected him to fight harder. Maybe he was as tired of our battles as I was. I felt hands on my back and turned into Tshaya’s arms.

“You let him go.”

“Did you expect I’d stake him here?” My voice was sharper than I meant it to be.

“No, of course not. I did think that you’d leave with him.” Her dark eyes met mine.

“Why?” I asked, and she shook her head, not wanting to say. Did she think I’d follow him and kill him away from prying eyes? Her elders wanted it. Maybe they knew I was a killing machine. “To kill him?”

“To talk to him. You want to.” She stroked my cheek. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“And that’s not why my memories were returned.” Damn, if I couldn’t use my tongue as a sword. She looked gutted.

“I didn’t have an agenda, Connor. I truly didn’t. My relatives did but you’re not their puppet and neither am I. I can’t make you believe that, can I?”

I pulled her into an embrace, my arms still trembling. “I believe you. I’m just scared, Tshaya, scared, and it’s making me mean. I’m sorry. I will have to talk to Angel someday. I just wasn’t ready. He knows who you are...that you’re Kalderash. I’m sure he thinks you’re connected to the ones who did this to him.”

Her face tilted up, her eyes wide with fear. “He knows?”

“He won’t hurt you, baby. I won’t let him even if he thought about it. He warned me against what you might do to me,” I said, thinking on that. God, he really did love me, didn’t he?

“He doesn’t have to worry. I won’t let my relatives do anything to you,” she whispered.

“I know.” I kissed her. “Let’s go home. I’m not into being here or going to the parties later. I just want to curl up in bed with you.”

“I’d like that.” 

What a night. I felt like my soul had been pulled and spun like cotton candy. Thinking about the innocence I had lost in giving myself to Cordy, the swim into the darker springs of passion with Tshaya, worrying if I could actually be a murderer, the high of winning again for my art and then Angel, I didn’t want more nights like this. I wasn’t sure I could survive them. Still, I walked away from my display, looking for Killian to tell him we were going, feeling stronger for having made it through. I glanced back and realized the Tu-Tu Guy was still standing there. He had to have heard everything. Wonder what he thought?

“I’m calling it a night. Why don’t you go find Keith Davey’s display? He’ll just love you,” I called to the young man. He grinned viciously and headed off. I paused, looking at my display, things boiling into my mind.

“Oh no,” Tshaya said.

“Oh no, what?” 

“You’ve got that look in your eye that says I’m going to shut myself up, ignore the world and paint,” she scolded.

“Would that be so bad?” I grinned at her.

“Start tomorrow. Tonight you’re mine...I might even treat you to the leather roses.” She traced the bow of my lip with a finger.

I quivered. “Let’s save that for another night. Seeing Dad was like ripping a scab off a really big wound...I’m not up for much of anything.”

“Ah, you actually meant the curling up thing,” she said, patting my arm.

“Cuddling’s not so bad,” I protested.

“Cuddling’s good,” she said, kissing me again. “We can do that.”

I sighed, relaxing into her embrace as we walked on. Maybe if I had been cuddled somewhere along the way things would have turned out better. Guess I’ll never know. For now, I had to be content with what I had, as weird as it might be. Someday soon, I’d be ready to talk to Dad again, maybe. I at least owed it to him to tell him about Tshaya’s relatives being around. Maybe we could find some kind of peace between us or just end it one way or another. But that was something for another night. Tonight, I was going home, resting, contemplating, maybe even create just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awards won  
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